Witching Hour
by RalynRose
Summary: Tinsel's life is spent in servitude to a man bent on creating a perfect Breed. She's a killer whose been saved by one of her targets. They seek refuge in the seclusion of the Olympic forest. Only Tinsel's facing the one thing she's running from: shifters.
1. 000: Wind

Tinsel Matthews pulled her hooded sweatshirt from the cab of her truck. After slipping into it, she melted into the shadows. There was never a time when she wanted what she was brought into and this was no exception. She gripped the sword's hilt with both of her hands as she came up the side of the one story apartment. She didn't know who or what lived here, just that its inhabitants were her mark and in order to pay her debt, she had to terminate them.

She slipped into a crouch to get past the windows and turned the knob. She suppressed a scoff when the door eased open silently. People put so much confidence in others. People were made to do one thing and one thing only: destroy. Tinsel knew that first hand, both because of the reason she was in this mess...and because that's what she'd been doing since she was fifteen years old. Six years was a long time to destroy families, businesses, governments. All because she didn't have the common sense to stay away.

If there was anything she'd learned in the six years she'd been doing this, it was that if the doors were unlocked, it often meant they had a weapon that they knew how to use...or they were idiots. Either way, she could easily be wounded. She smiled morbidly, hoping that someone would finally be able to free her in whatever way it took. She eased herself inside and behind the island of the kitchen. Open rooms were her favorite. She watched as a man descended the stairs and shut the door. "Damned wind," he muttered before turning around and heading upstairs.

If she were one of the more heartless of her kind, she would have laughed and killed him then. _Wind_, she thought bitterly, _I'll show you wind._ She sped up the stairs making not a sound, and pressed herself firmly behind the opened linen closet door. "Jenny, time for a bath!" The man shouted. Another door down the hall opened and a little girl came out, dressed in a fairy costume.

Tinsel's breath halted. Why did the girl seem so familiar? "_Get the child and kill the rest of the family,_" Her owner's words rang out in her head and she clenched her teeth. She should have known what he was up to. Was it any wonder why so many children were roaming the halls of his estate?

Still, her owner would know that she hadn't succeeded. She never bothered to ask how. His kind never told the truth. In fact, no one did these days. Honesty was a rare trait, and it was one Tinsel tried her best to uphold...with the exception of Master and his friends. They didn't like the truth, and they had the power to kill her without penalty. No one else could say such a thing.

After the bathroom door shut, she crept into the room at the end of the hallway. The man made no move to signal that he had heard her. There was no reason to suggest that he had known she was there. Tinsel pushed her emotions aside and drew the sword back. Faster than was humanly possible, the man turned around and a colt .45 stared back at her. The man laughed. "You would think you'd get the memo about upgrading to modern weaponry," he said conversationally, as if Tinsel weren't here to kill him or if he thought the gun would stop her from hitting her mark.

Tinsel didn't let her stony expression falter. "Guns are used by cowards," she replied, "anyone can pull a trigger. How many can slice through five men in a single swipe?"

The man's dark eyebrows disappeared into his hair. "Impressive, but irrelevant. How do you think Uri would like my warning: your mangled body with a Post-It note attached, or your heart in a gift box?"

Despite the gruesomeness of the man's words, Tinsel couldn't help but crack a smile. This could be her way out! "I'd wager he'd appreciate the latter."

"All right, enough. I won't kill you as long as you tell Urian that my debt to him was paid off. If he sends another one of _your_ kind after me again, I'll have his family jewels shipped to Lemuria and put on display. I'm sure the king wouldn't mind." He made to move and put the gun away, but Tinsel's hand flashed out, pinning him to the wall with the tip of the blade to his neck.

"Do it," she said, not caring that her voice was hysteric. "you should kill me before I have to kill you."

"What?" His eyes were wide with disbelief.

Tinsel pressed the tip closer. "Kill me."


	2. 001: Destiny

It was winter. The skies were like a painting, many shades of gray all blended perfectly to form one beautiful masterpiece. The roads bled together in blurring strips of black, gold, and white. Greens and browns, yellows, reds, beiges, oranges; they were the streaks in between the painting of the sky and the strips of tricolor beneath the car.

Tinsel Matthews tensed at the sound of a gun cocking. Gatlyn laughed, even though he understood her tenseness. "It's just a sound on the radio," he said casually.

Tinsel could shoot him for his nonchalant attitude. He'd made a big mistake by sparing her life two weeks ago. Ever since, they've been on the run and haven't stopped. "We've got to change our appearances," she whispered.

Grimacing, Gatlyn nodded his head and looked in the rear view mirror at Jenny. She was sound asleep without a care in the world. She had no knowledge of what was going on, or who Tinsel really was. Gatlyn had told her that Tinsel was her aunt. "Assume new identities,"

"New habits and personalities," Tinsel added, knowing that habits and personalities were the first thing an assassin looked for. You were trained to know how your target acted just in case they ran off and changed their appearance. She could almost laugh at the irony of it all. Still, she needed to find a way to deal with her siblings' captivity. "I know someone in Seattle that can get us id's, birth certificates, drivers' licenses; the works."

Gatlyn nodded. "As do I. He's Jenny's brother."

"Your son?" Tinsel asked.

Gatlyn nodded yet again. "Unofficially. He and Jenny are adopted by me."

Tinsel paused, wondering why he was telling her this. After all, she could turn on him at any moment. A few more years in Master's service wouldn't kill her. At least, she didn't think so. But then, did it matter? "You should learn to keep your life secret. You never know who might be listening and what they might do with that information," she warned.

Gatlyn laughed, obviously finding her words amusing. "I've learned a long time ago, kid, that if someone is going to get you, they're going to get you. The Fates choose our destinies, not us."

Tinsel snorted. "Whomever told you that should be lynched."


	3. 002: Your Turn

Just like she suspected, the place where they would hide out was deep in the Olympic forest. It was a very unassuming place; a cabin just big enough to fit two people. It was a polished cherry wood color, with a dark green door that had a screen door in front of it. Two rocking chairs sat on the front porch, whilst the back porch was more of a deck, easing into the side of the hill just ten feet from the back door. On the front and back porches, stairs were on the left side. Potted flowers – marigolds, geraniums, and cut leaf philodendrons – sat on the steps, whilst hanging potted flowers – English ivy, grape vine, and Boston fern – hang from hooks screwed into the ceiling.

This wasn't something she was used to. Her surroundings had always been more laavish. At least, since she fell into servitude. Before that, perhaps, but she barely remember that time. It seemed like an entirely different life now. While Gatlyn carried Jenny into the cabin, Tinsel lifted the multitude of bags they had gotten from Jason, the guy that also gave them their new lives. They contained hair dye, scissors, clothes, their information, and slew of other things they would need. She shut the door of the new car, though it looked beat up and used, and hurriedly carted the bags into the cabin. She shut and locked both doors once the items were on the counter of the tiny kitchen.

"All right," Gatlyn said, aftering having closed the curtains and tucked Jenny in tightly with a blanket that seemed to come from nowhere, "Phoebe Reynolds, Ethan Reynolds, and Kyle Reynolds," he read. He shook his head. "Jenny isn't going to like having to cut all that pretty hair off.

Tinsel took out a smaller envelope and slid it across the table. "Maybe she won't have too. While you two went to the car, I had him print out another set of identities. This one is her's."

Gatlyn raised one eyebrow. "You cover your bases pretty well. It makes me wonder why you were so eager to quit."

Tinsel snorted. Gatlyn knew just as well as she that there was no quitting in her line of work. Well, not the kind where you go look for another job. No, in her line of work, the only way out was to die. Perhaps that's why he chose the word 'quit'. To make it seem less brutal. "We all have our secrets," she mused, taking the burgundy hair dye out of it's package.

An hour later, she was auburn haired with hazel eyes and a smattering of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. She took a pair of scissors and lopped off half of her hair. It fell, now, to her shoulders. She gave herself sideswept bangs and layered her hair.

Gatlyn sat watching from the bar stool in front of the counter. "Where did you learn to do all of this?" he asked.

Tinsel answered without thinking. "Master's favorite girls would be pampered. They would have their make up done and their hair, and wear the best clothes."

"You were one of these girls?" he guessed.

Tinsel shook her head, putting the brush down. "No, I was one of the few who fixed them up." She took another glance in the mirror, blinking her eyes against the colored contacts. You could still see some of the brown, but it made the hazel look more realistic. At least, that was what she told herself. She held up a box of blond hair dye. "Your turn."


End file.
